


Jumanji (ft. the Seijoh Four)

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jumanji Fusion, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 02:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: The title literally says it all... I was inspired by the latest "Jumanji" movie because it was absolute gold and who better to stick in a video game than the wonderful Seijoh bois?





	Jumanji (ft. the Seijoh Four)

"What the fuck is that?"

 

Iwaizumi tsks under his breath, ignores Makki’s foul language, and focuses on dusting off the heavy chunk of plastic in his hands, cradling it with extreme care.

 

"I second that," Mattsun pipes in. Iwaizumi twists to glare, but Mattsun isn’t looking at him.

 

Instead the middle blocker runs a hand through his hair, pops another chip into his mouth, and chews it annoyingly loudly from where he’s sprawled, all six feet, two inches of him, over the single couch in the basement. 

 

"Shut up and you’ll find out," Iwaizumi shoots back before returning to his task.

 

The dust rises in a little cloud from the movement of his hands and he crinkles his nose against the urge to sneeze.

 

The third voice, the one Iwaizumi is kind of surprised hasn’t spoken up yet, suddenly sounds right by his ear, a heavy weight accompanying it as the idiot he calls his best friend drapes himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders.

 

"Oooh, Iwa-chan," Oikawa coos, "so mysterious, keeping secrets in the basement."

 

"Get. Off. Of. Me." Iwaizumi grits out, throwing his shoulders back enough to shake Oikawa loose.

 

"Mean, Iwa-chan," Oikawa drawls when Iwaizumi turns around to face him, a lazy smirk gracing his annoying face.

 

Iwaizumi should kick him.

 

But the console in his hands is far too precious to risk dropping, even if it means missing out on sticking his foot so far up Oikawa’s ass he’ll-

 

"Oy, I for one would like to know why all of us got suddenly summoned to your dusty, cluttered basement on a beautiful summer day like today when we could be enjoying the fresh air," Makki says, aiming the words at Iwaizumi from his less than graceful position flat on his back on the floor.

 

"Or making out with your boyfriends, you mean," Iwaizumi scoffs, thinking of the one that’s not here, the silver-haired, angel-faced boy from the other side of town.

 

Makki grins smugly up at him, everything about him, even his annoyingly bright pink hair, oozing greasy charm.

 

"Hey, I can’t help it if Kou enjoys being on the receiving end of this tongue," he says, poking his equally pink tongue out and waggling it back and forth.

 

Oikawa pulls a face.

 

"That’s revolting," Mattsun gags, chucking a chip at Makki’s face.

 

It grazes Makki’s cheek, leaves behind an incongruous smear of oil and salt, before landing on the faded carpet.

 

"Oh yeah?" Makki retorts, moving to prop himself up on his palms, still grinning ear to ear. "Is that why Sugawara keeps coming back for more?"

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, listens to Oikawa fake-vomit, and moves to place the game console near the old television set, searching for the right wires and plugins.

 

Makki’s right. Not about the tongue tongue thing of course. But they could all be outside, enjoying the fresh air and the sunny weather, maybe tossing a volleyball around at the park or grabbing food at the corner convenience store.

 

But Iwaizumi’s parents had also bought him this vintage video game he had never even heard of, which is unusual in itself. This old console his dad had owned as a kid is the only thing that will work.

 

And Iwaizumi really, really wants to play. He’s a sucker for old games. The graphics might not always be cutting edge but real gamers knew how to appreciate the character and quality of old-school.

 

So he focuses on untangling cords that’ve probably not seen the light of day for decades, focuses on fitting the right prongs in the right outlets while he listens to Oikawa and Makki banter behind him about whose mouth and tongue-talents Suga prefers between the two of them.

 

Mattsun continues to crunch away on his chips, obviously enjoying the show.

 

"You all are dating each other," Iwaizumi growls when the poking and prodding begin to get too loud - thanks to Oikawa’s obnoxious whining - for him to focus. "Obviously Suga wants both of your tongues down his throat or he wouldn’t be putting up with the both of you. Somehow, believe it or not, he’s found something to like in all of _this_."

 

Iwaizumi twists to gesture at them with a wrinkled nose, torn between soft affection and old exasperation at the sight of Makki now sitting on Oikawa’s stomach, pinning him effectively to the ground while Oikawa pouts.

 

"Now shut up and let me get this to work." Iwaizumi once again turns back to the task at hand.

 

"You didn’t say you wanted to make out with _me_ ," he hears Oikawa mutter sullenly under his breath, followed quickly by a soft huff of laughter from Makki.

 

"Such a baby," Makki answers, teasing but serious. "I always want to make out with you."

 

Oikawa doesn’t answer but Iwaizumi can just picture the look on the other’s face as he tries to find one last plug to fit into the back of the ancient console.

 

He knows Oikawa is still pouting, lower lip jutted out, big, brown eyes narrowed, a childish air to his handsome features.

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the same time he hears Makki murmur, "Well, I was going to wait until we didn’t have company, _but_ …"

 

Mattsun’s chip-choked squawk of outrage is soon to follow - no doubt at the sight of Makki catching Oikawa in a lip-lock - and it times up perfectly with Iwaizumi finally, _finally_ , plugging in the last piece, the console whirring to life under his hands as he pushes the dusty, cracked power button.

 

_"Perfect,"_ he thinks.

 

"If you two aren’t detached and ten feet apart when I turn around," Iwaizumi threatens out loud even though a grin has broken out over his face with excitement as the tv flickers in front of him, a dated start screen appearing slowly, "I’ll kick you both out and only Mattsun will get to stay for milk bread."

 

As he’d predicted, there’s a sudden thump, a muffled, "Hey, _Tooru_ , what the fuck,", and snickering coming from the direction of the couch.

 

Iwaizumi turns back to the room to gratefully find Oikawa sitting perfectly composed on one side of the basement floor and Makki sprawled in a disheveled heap a few feet away.

 

"Fank God," Mattsun snorts around a mouthful of chips, crumbs dropping onto the front of his shirt. "Fhat was disfusting to watch."

 

Oikawa regards his friend with a delicately crinkled nose, his hair just slightly mussed, lips slightly pink, revulsion very apparent on his face.

 

"Speak for yourself," he mutters as more crumbs spray over the carpet.

 

Iwaizumi sighs. He’s not sure what he had done in a past life to somehow become best friends with three idiots in this one.

 

"Listen up," he starts, ready to explain the game. But Makki’s voice quickly overtakes his.

 

"I swear to God I’ll only make out with Sugawara for a month if you don’t come over here and finish what _I_ started," he threatens, face flushed with irritation, eyes narrowed at Oikawa and words aimed towards his boyfriend with a vengeance.

 

He rolls into a sitting position, tugging his shirt back down from where it’s ridden up, a brief flash of smooth skin visible for less than a second, the flash of his bellybutton piercing there for even less.

 

Oikawa wriggles a little in his cross-legged, perfect schoolboy position, eyes flickering from Iwaizumi to Makki and back again, obvious conflict warring over his face.

 

" _Babe_ , that’s not fair-," he starts, pouting again, giving his boyfriend pleading eyes, to which Makki crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs, eyes still narrowed dangerously.

 

"Oy!" Iwaizumi barks, his patience finally giving out. "Either you two stay and play, or leave and discuss Oikawa’s unhealthy relationship with milk bread somewhere else." 

 

Both Makki and Oikawa’s heads snap back towards the front of the room at whiplash speeds.

 

"Fine," Makki grumbles under his breath.

 

Mattsun crunches another chip.

 

Iwaizumi sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose against a swiftly escalating headache, and turns back to the tv.

 

Thankfully the game has just now loaded, so he isn’t missing anything as the screen slowly fades into color, thick, forest-greens and vibrant splashes of yellow and red and orange as a tropical jungle comes into view, an old, rustic-looking logo appearing in big, block-like letters just seconds later.

 

_Jumanji_. 

 

The faint beat of tribal drums accompanies the scene, seemingly in the distance at first and then pitching to a rumble that’s loud enough for Iwaizumi to feel as if the drummers are standing just outside his basement door.

 

"Wow," Mattsun deadpans from just over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. "Those graphics are… something."

 

Iwaizumi swats at him and his sarcastic, not-needed undertone.

 

"I think it’s perfect," Iwaizumi responds, mostly to spite Mattsun.

 

But he really does. Just the sight of the retro interface, the blinking, flashing word "Start" at the bottom of the screen, has him excited. He’s been itching to play ever since he got the game.

 

Why he had decided to wait and invite his three best friends to play first is honestly still a mystery, one of life’s great unknowns.

 

Regardless, they’re all here now, the game is setup, and Iwaizumi is two steps past impatient.

 

He grabs one of the two crappy controllers resting on top of the console and jabs the button to begin.

 

The interface shifts, and Iwaizumi is suddenly aware of Oikawa and Makki also having shifted to stand in a loose semi-circle with him and Mattsun in front of the television.

 

The drums beat on, somehow even louder, like the game itself is excited that the four of them are ready to play. 

 

"Ummm," Iwaizumi mutters eloquently, squinting at the new screen, which seems to have descriptions of characters written across it. "Okay, so I guess we all pick players and then we can take turns with the controllers."

 

" _Oooh_ , me first," Oikawa immediately pipes up, darting forward to snatch the second controller, his feud with Makki seemingly the last thing on his mind as he focuses on the options, the tip of a pink tongue poking out from between his teeth.

 

Iwaizumi catches Makki rolling his eyes from his peripheral vision.

 

"Hmmm, 'Jasmine Jujitsu'… no, although tempting… 'Kameron Kickass', no thanks, that one’s stupid… 'Dr. Smolder Shelley'… I like that one, that one’s definitely me."

 

Iwaizumi sighs long-sufferingly at Oikawa’s focused murmuring. "Oh my God, just pick one already."

 

Oikawa huffs in reply, but assigns Player 1 to "Dr. Smolder Shelley".

 

"I’m a doctor and obviously a hot one," he coos, practically preening even as Makki mutters something awfully rude under his breath and snatches the controller from his hands.

 

Player 2 goes to "Jasmine Jujitsu", and then Mattsun is snorting, but intelligently remaining quiet, as he accepts the controller from Makki and assigns Player 3 to "Professor Edward Enigma".

 

"Great," Iwaizumi mumbles, choosing the last option - "Kameron Kickass" - since the fifth character - "Daniel Dashing" - appears to be locked.

 

At least he has "kickass" in his name.

 

The drums stop.

 

Iwaizumi is startled by the sudden silence for some reason, flinching almost subconsciously. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s having a nightmare and he jolts awake all at once, disorienting, terrifying, like cold water has been splashed in his face.

 

The tv screen glows a little brighter but the image remains the same. The basement is silent, like the four of them are holding their breaths. Although for what, Iwaizumi isn’t sure.

 

"Now what?" Oikawa asks.

 

And that’s when Iwaizumi feels it.

 

The tingling in his fingertips.

 

The restlessness in his bones.

 

The slow - but sure - disintegration of reality.

 

"What the _fuck_ is happening?"

 

That’s Oikawa again, his voice pitched high with surprise this time, and when Iwaizumi automatically turns towards the panic in his best friend’s words, he cries out in shock.

 

Oikawa’s fingertips are _green_ , the rest of his skin quickly following suit as he begins to evaporate into the air, bits and pieces of him disappearing, sucked like a whirlpool towards the television screen, his irises flickering like a computer glitch just once before he’s completely gone.

 

"Oh my _God_ -"

 

Makki doesn’t get to finish his sentence, hazel eyes as large as saucers as he too vanishes straight into thin air, quickly followed by Mattsun right before Iwaizumi’s horrified gaze, his feet frozen to the floor, stomach twisting.

 

"What the _hell_ -" he begins to shout, feeling his own body turning immaterial, tugged towards the tv as if by a magnet.

 

And then the world goes dark.

 

 

 

The ground that Iwaizumi lands on is two things.

 

Hard as fuck. And wet. Very, very wet.

 

Some part of Iwaizumi’s brain wants to turn those two adjectives into a dirty joke, but he’s a little too focused on getting his breath back, all of the wind knocked out of him in the same way he figures it would feel like to be hit by a semi-truck going a million miles an hour.

 

"Mmpphhhughhh," he groans unintelligibly, rolling over onto his back and spitting what he’s praying is mud from his mouth, squinting as a ray of sunlight hits him directly in the eyes.

 

The smell is what hits him first as his dazzled brain tries to put words to images.

 

Damp, earthy, petrichor.

 

Then a splash of water hits him cross between the eyes and Iwaizumi realizes that he’s blinking up at a rather large, rather green, palm frond.

 

A jewel-red lizard that’s probably the size of Iwaizumi’s thumb skitters across it seconds later, neon-blue tongue flickering out as it blinks glittering, gold eyes at him.

 

Iwaizumi makes a noise that’s somewhere between a squawk and a squeak, sitting bolt upright as his brain finally acknowledges his surroundings.

 

_"I’m in a fucking jungle,"_ he thinks smartly. Green stretches for miles all around, dotted here and there with bright splashes of color and noise, rainwater dripping from the canopy above as very little sunlight filters down through the forest of leaves. It feels as if he’s underwater, everything bathed in a murky, green, watery glow, the humidity damp and heavy and uncomfortable.

 

He peers down the length of his body until his eyes reach the tips of his black combat boots, the hot pink, bejeweled toes of them resting against a tree trunk that is wrapped in thick, leafy vines, flowers of all shapes and sizes and colors blossoming from them and something rustling in the foliage high above.

 

Wait…

 

Those aren’t his shoes.

 

And those _definitely_ aren’t his legs. They’re shorter, smaller, almost child-like, and clad in black, knee-high stockings with little white skulls patterned over them.

 

Iwaizumi finally puts together the last piece of what’s wrong at the same time that his hands raise subconsciously to grasp at the unfamiliar weight on his chest.

 

He shrieks, voice high-pitched and kind of painful to his own ears, stumbling to his feet, the ground much closer than it usually is, his fingers jerking away from what are most definitely _boobs_ that had definitely not been there before. 

 

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," is the only thing he’s able to say, over and over again, and it’s definitely not his own voice that he’s listening to as he stumbles around the forest floor, nearly going cross-eyed as he tries to look down at what is _not_ his own body, but that he seems to be in full control of regardless.

 

Strawberry-blonde hair whacks him in the face as he struggles, panic leaving him blind as he takes a few running steps forward, as if he can run out of this illusion. Oddly enough his hair also smells like strawberries, but that’s the last thing on Iwaizumi’s mind.

 

Why is he in a jungle? How is he in someone else’s body? What the fuck is going on-

 

One of Iwaizumi’s sparkly boots catches on a vine or a log or some other type of rainforest debris, and he goes down. Hard.

 

"Mmpphhhughhh," he moans once again.

 

This time, though, someone else’s voice mixes with his.

 

A high-pitched shriek actually, not really words.

 

Iwaizumi blinks dazedly to the side, something wet smeared over one cheek, and is met with the sight of a very rotund, very hairy middle-aged man just inches away, also sprawled across the thick green carpet of the jungle floor.

 

"Oh," Iwaizumi mutters, realizing what he must have tripped on.

 

He pushes himself up with dainty hands that are also not his, the nails the same color as the pink rhinestones on his boots.

 

The fat man is still screaming.

 

"Who are you?" he gasps out, eyes flickering back and forth between Iwaizumi and the canopy overhead. "Where am I? Where’s Iwa-chan?"

 

Iwaizumi goes stock-still.

 

"What did you just say?" Iwaizumi says flatly, once again feeling as if all of the air has just left his body. But this time he has nothing to blame it on except for the man’s words.

 

The man throws his hands up in the air, as if shielding his face, his eyes flickering down to Iwaizumi’s combat boots and then back up. 

 

"Don’t hurt me," he pleads. Right before he begins to shout desperately into the chaos of the rainforest. "Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan, where are you?! IWA-CHAN!"

 

There’s no doubt left in Iwaizumi’s mind now about what’s happened, and definitely not when he spots the suave leather medical handbag nearby, the name "Dr. Smolder Shelley" engraved elegantly along the front, just under the brass clip.

 

"Fuck," he murmurs under his breath, stunned as much as he is relieved to have finally figured it out.

 

Then his attention returns to the supposed doctor.

 

Iwaizumi growls at Oikawa’s screaming, striding forward the rest of the way and gripping the front of Dr. Smolder Shelley’s - or Oikawa’s he guesses - crisp, button-down shirt, yanking him forward.

 

Oikawa squalls, his face a deep plum from shouting, and whacks at Iwaizumi with heavy hands.

 

"Ow, _ow_ , stop it, Tooru," Iwaizumi grits out, digging his fingers in a little tighter. "Stop screaming you idiot, before you alert the entire jungle that we’re here. It’s me, Hajime."

 

Oikawa gets in one last whack - one that stings like a bitch too - before he freezes.

 

Big, brown eyes blink up at Iwaizumi, the man’s - Oikawa’s - lower lip trembling.

 

They stare at each other for a few quiet seconds.

 

And then… "Iwa-chan?" Oikawa murmurs quietly, shell-shocked but tentatively hopeful at the same time. Somehow Iwaizumi can still see his best friend underneath the stranger’s face.

 

Iwaizumi sighs and releases him, straightening up and pinching the bridge of his nose. He can still smell strawberries and something that oddly reminds him of caramelized sugar whenever he moves, and he guesses it must be his character’s - Kameron Kickass’s - perfume or shampoo or something.

 

And so are the boobs. And so is the hair, which, upon further inspection, is tied up into two high pigtails on either side of his head.

 

Oikawa struggles to his feet, eyes wide as he stares at Iwaizumi.

 

"What?" Iwaizumi can’t help but snap. It’s bad enough that they’re obviously stuck in a fucking video game, but Oikawa’s ogling is only making Iwaizumi more tense.

 

Oikawa sputters. "Umm, nothing, nothing."

 

Iwaizumi glares at him.

 

"It’s just uh- well- I mean-," Oikawa stutters. "You’re so _tiny_."

 

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes up at Oikawa, who’s definitely at least two feet taller even though Dr. Smolder Shelley appears to be a stubby, stocky man.

 

But he decides to let it go. They’ve got bigger problems to deal with.

 

Such as in figuring out where the hell Makki and Mattsun ended up.

 

As if summoned by the mere thought of them, a different, new voice suddenly echoes from somewhere nearby, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa move in sync, turning towards the sound.

 

"Oy, Kameron Kickass, over here."

 

Iwaizumi finally spots them, sighing in relief when he sees two people and not just one.

 

A man and a woman clamber over fallen trees and pick their way carefully over tangled vines and God knows what else, the both of them wearing identical expressions of discomfort and irritation.

 

The woman is tall and willowy, with long legs that go for miles, her cutoff shorts doing nothing but emphasizing that point. Ink-black hair spills down over her shoulders like a spill of silk, perfect red lips quirked down as large, gold doe-eyes narrow at Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

 

"Wow," Oikawa deadpans, dumbstruck. Iwaizumi elbows him.

 

The man is just as tall, tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of his nose above a rather regal-looking face. The salt-and-pepper hair matched with the tailor-cut suit gives him the air of someone who might teach classes at Harvard.

 

"Jasmine Jujitsu and Professor Edward Enigma," Iwaizumi says, not phrasing it like a question.

 

Jasmine Jujitsu - a.k.a. Makki - crosses his arms over his chest.

 

"Yeah, we figured that out already," he snipes, obviously nowhere near happy at the predicament they’ve found themselves in.

 

"Makki?" Oikawa asks, still very stunned and seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from Jasmine Jujitsu.

 

"Don’t 'Makki' me," Makki snaps. "Just because we’re apparently in Iwaizumi’s fucking video game - which is beyond creepy okay? What the hell? - doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the fact that you obviously love milk bread more than me, Mr. Smolder Stupid, or whoever the heck you are."

 

"Wait," Oikawa blinks suddenly, as if a thought just struck him. "If you’re in Jasmine Jujitsu’s body, and you both are in your characters’ bodies, then that means…"

 

Iwaizumi watches with some sort of sick fascination as Dr. Smolder Shelley looks around frantically until he spots a clear, small pond a few yards away, the water’s surface still enough that it looks like a natural mirror, reflecting all of the emeralds and the sapphires and rubies and ambers around it.

 

Oikawa rushes over to the water’s edge, staring down into the surface with bated breath and what must be high expectations.

 

It’s silent, the rest of them watching on and waiting, until a wail cuts through the natural sounds of the rainforest.

 

"I’m a middle-aged man," Oikawa bemoans, spinning around and clapping both hands to his cheeks, horror evident all over his face. "God, I’m so _old_ -" 

 

Makki snorts.

 

"We have other things to worry about," Mattsun chimes in, rolling his eyes and adjusting the little bowtie Iwaizumi is just now noticing at his neck. "And that’s a Dendroaspis polylepsis hanging from that branch above your head, so I suggest you move before it bites you."

 

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath when he spots the creature Mattsun is referring to, a black mamba whose scales ripple in the dappled sunlight like oil on water.

 

Oikawa shrieks and scuttles back towards them.

 

"How did you know that?" Iwaizumi immediately asks once Oikawa is safely away from the reptile.

 

Mattsun frowns and then shrugs, looking down his hawk-like nose at Iwaizumi, who is once again reminded of how short he is compared to the rest of them. God, is Kameron Kickass fourteen or something?

 

"I dunno," he answers, tapping long fingers against his thigh. "I just did."

 

"I mean, he is a professor," Makki chimes in helpfully, staring at his long, perfectly manicured nails as if he’s bored.

 

"And you’re a doctor," Iwaizumi murmurs, staring at Oikawa, and then over at Makki. "And you should be a jujitsu master."

 

"So we’ve inherited our characters’ strengths along with their bodies?" Oikawa asks, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his starched shirt.

 

All four of them are silent, staring at each other. Some kind of monkey howls in the distance, the sharp cry of a bird following it.

 

"We’re in the game," Iwaizumi finally answers, straightening his shoulders. "That’s all we can be sure of for now."

 

"I think there’s one more thing we can be sure of," Mattsun adds, his face suddenly very serious. "About what this all means."

 

Iwaizumi knows what he’s implying. The reality had hit him long before this.

 

From the looks on the other two’s faces, he knows they’re all on the same page.

 

Iwaizumi sighs heavily, stands up taller and curls his fingers into fists, before speaking it out loud.

 

"It means we have to beat the game to go home. It means we have to play."

**Author's Note:**

> [click here to get sucked into my blog](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


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